


Two Faced Cheshire

by Satamoru



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satamoru/pseuds/Satamoru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Batter wanted was a normal life. Go to school, play baseball, get good grades and stay out of trouble. Unfortunately, trouble came in the form of a boy named Zacharie; and he certainly had no intentions of staying away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning Routine

Every day ran like a schedule; at exactly 7:04, the first warning beep of his alarm clock jolted him into unwelcome consciousness. After listening to it for a few more insistent peals, he threw one arm out, smashing down on the snooze button with perfected accuracy. Rolling over he dozed back off, just in time to be jerked awake again at 7:15. This repeated two more times, before finally he dragged himself from the warmth of his mattress at roughly 7:45.

Stumbling his way into the bathroom he located his toothbrush, and gave it a quick rinse before applying just enough toothpaste to qualify as ‘reasonable’. As he set to work cleansing the morning taste from his mouth he started up the shower, adjusting the taps as required and letting the water warm up while he finished brushing. Rinse out mouth, rinse out toothpaste, step beneath the showers spray - rinse off body. 

Get out, towel off, make his way back to the bedroom. 8 o’clock. Just enough time to pull on his clothes and locate his ball cap, settling it neatly into place - nose forward - before heading down the stairs. Breakfast to go on the table, accompanied by a small note from his mother. As he ripped open the packaging of the granola bar with his teeth he glanced over the note quickly.

'Dear 'Batter',

Good morning, dear! Sorry your father and I weren’t able to see you off. We were called in to a last minute business meeting - I’ve already put your lunch money in your bag. Have a good day at school, and remember, we are very proud of you!

\- Mom.’

The note was deposited in the garbage alongside the granola packaging as he passed by, snatching his bag and pulling it over his shoulders on his way out the door. 8:25. Just in time to catch the bus.

"Good morning, Batter!" "Hey dude, almost thought you weren’t gonna make it this morning." "I saved you a seat!"

"Good morning. I always make it. Thanks, but I must decline." Were the blunt answers to the normal, familiar greetings, even as he took his usual spot in the far back corner. It was empty, as always, reserved soully for him despite the offers often made to sit elsewhere. Batter preferred to sit at the back, for the same reason he preferred to sit alone. 

Safer that way.

The bus pulled into the parking lot just short of the warning bell. No one moved even as it stopped, all waiting for Batter to make his way off the vehicle before following after him. Make room for the schools Star Player, as always. Even the students crowding the hallway parted to allow him passage, occasionally calling out a greeting as he made his way to his locker. 

First class of the day, English. Gathering the necessary books he swung the door shut then made his unhurried way to the proper room, unhindered by the crowds still gathered. 

It wasn’t until he reached the door that he paused, taking a moment to gaze at the familiar ugly green paint and examine the faded numbers ‘102’. As always, he hesitated. Because the second he walked through that door, he knew the chaos of the day would truly begin.

As it always did.

Stealing his nerves he pushed open the door, hoping, praying, that maybe today-

Damn it. There he sat, the bane of Batter’s existence. Yet again positioned in the desk directly beside his, despite recent seating arrangements made specifically to set them apart. 

Zacharie. The man who was consistent in his sheer amount of inconsistencies. Today he donned the stupid cat mask - Batter made an automatic mental note to refer to him properly as ‘Pablo’ for the remainder of that morning - and of course, the same sweater he wore every god damn day. 

As usual, the only change in his appearance was his hair and bottoms. Blue hair today; a shocking, electric shade, pulled back into an entirely unnecessary ponytail that barely reached the top of his turtleneck. Batter couldn’t see much of his pants, but he saw enough to know they were red. Hands folded neatly on the top of his desk like a demon trying to emulate an angel, he gave no indication he had noticed Batter’s arrival.

He continued to give no indication up until the point Batter’s bag landed with a loud thud in the space between their two seats, masked face turning to fixate upon him as he sank down into his desk.

For a moment there was silence.

"Didn’t Ms. Teacher move you to the other side of the class?" Batter finally inquired in a bland, unenthusiastic voice; already perfectly aware of the answer. 

As expected, he received a small chuckle in response. “Not so, amigo. She moved  _Zacharie_  to the other side of the class,” he tutted, wiggling his finger as if Batter should have known that. To be fair, he sort of had.

Sighing in exasperation, he just gave a small shrug as he pretended to focus on the whiteboard. “Oh, right. Stupid of me to forget. My apologies, Za-” he heard the small catch of breath, the almost laugh just starting to begin, ”- _Pablo_.”

Not this time. He could almost smell the disappointment; hear the small sniff of frustrated annoyance. But he just reveled in his small victory, as petty as it was.

They exchanged no further comments, instead waiting quietly for the rest of the class to settle. There was a short moment of confusion when the student meant to sit in the desk - Elsen, was it? - realized his spot was taken and asked in flustered bewilderment, “Uhm, Z-Zacharie? I think..uuh..I think you’re sitting in. Uhm. In my desk?”

Zacharie merely rolled his head on his neck to fix his smiling, unfaltering mask upon the boy and replied in a purring croon, “I’m sorry, you must be mistaking. I’m  _Pablo,"_ to which Elsen looked momentarily lost before realization settled in.

"Oh! R-right. Uhm. Sorry. My bad," came the flustered apology as he hurriedly made his way to what was now apparently his desk. A few students tittered with amusement but quickly settled when Ms. Teacher strolled into the room with her usual brisk air.

"Good morning, class," she offered in greeting, the students echoing her obediently. "Now, before we begin today’s," and her words stopped. A familiar tension settled, nervous anticipation as her sweeping eyes landed upon their usual target. A small noise of tired weary escaped her mouth. "Zacharie. Why are you in Elsen’s desk?"

The unyielding mask stared right back at her as Zacharie settled his chin on one hand. “My apologies señorita, but I do believe you are confusing me for someone else.” Batter didn’t need to see his face to know he was grinning; the tone was obvious in his voice.

Ms. Teacher’s mouth formed into a thin line. “Must we have this discussion every class? Please move to your proper seat.” 

Zacharie shifted the weight of his head onto the other hand. “I am afraid I do not understand. As I recall correctly, this is the seat I was assigned less then a week ago.”

Eye twitching in an increasingly common nerve reaction, Ms. Teacher exhaled through her teeth. “Zacharie, we assigned you a new seat yesterday. I know you are perfectly aware of that. I am not in the mood for another one of your games.”

Now he rested his chin on both hands, letting out a breathy sort of chuckle. “But Miss, I am not Zacharie. I am  _Pablo. C_ ertainly that is obvious, what with my mask. Zacharie wears a-“ _  
_

"I am perfectly aware of what Zacharie wears," she didn’t even wait for him to finish his sentence, pressing a hand to the side of her head in a visible migraine. Zacharie said nothing. Finally she slumped her shoulders in defeat, shaking her head as she shuffled her lesson notes into order. "Alright, Pablo. You may remain in your seat for today. Just remind _Zacharie_ that he has a new place when he comes to class next.”

Batter clenched his fists, because he knew exactly what was coming. Even before Zacharie opened that damnable shit-eating mouth of his, he could hear that slightest intake of breath, that small noise of triumph. He knew the punchline before it even left those wicked lips.

"But I  _am_  Zacharie. Come come, I may be wearing a different mask, but surely you must recognize my voice by now.”

Ms. Teacher pressed her hands into her eyes and started counting under her breath.

Teacher has a small breakdown, 9:35. Right on schedule. 


	2. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even then, the first thing Batter associated with Zacharie's voice was smoke. It was thick yet whispy, curling up into the air with a heaviness that made his chest contract as if he’d just swallowed a mouthful of ash.

The first time Batter met Zacharie was in tenth grade, and he was wearing his frog mask. At the time he and his team had just finished celebrating their third win of the season with a zealous pizza party at a local restaurant. They chattered enthusiastically among themselves as they stepped out into the warmth of the night. Batter trailed behind, feeling no compulsion to join their conversation as he absently fiddled with the brim of his hat.

Suddenly an elbow made playful contact with his ribs, earning a startled grunt as Batter shot the responsible party an annoyed look. Matt, the apparent guilty one, didn’t even seem to notice the glare as he jabbed his thumb to the side. “Looks like someone didn’t get the memo that Halloween was five months ago,” he snickered crudely.

Calmly swatting away the arm still positioned near his side Batter obediently lifted his head to follow the direction he had indicated, spotting the person of discussion instantly on the opposite side of the road. He was rather hard to miss.

Batter’s gaze was attracted to the mask immediately; pure white, save for a pair of black painted eyes and a frowning mouth. The unkempt black hair and white, heart-stitched sweater were also memorable traits, but the mask was definitely the most bizarre. Though, admittedly, wearing a sweater in such hot weather was bizarre in and of itself, but Batter didn’t think much of it at the time.

"What is he doing?" Batter said curiously out-loud. It was a bit late to be standing around on the sidewalk; there were no bus stops in the area, so unless he was waiting for a cab it was a bit odd of him to be hanging out there by himself.

"How can you even tell it’s a dude?" Was Matt’s main focus, apparently. Batter paused in momentary confusion, forehead furrowing as he mentally repeated the question to himself.

Finally he gave a small shrug of his shoulders, tipping his hat down before glancing over to look at his teammate. "I dunno. The hair, I guess," the sweater certainly hid any telling features, and the mask. Well. "Sides. Not many woman would want to hang around alone at night; especially if they saw a group of guys wandering around," he added fairly. The person certainly didn’t seem on edge, arms tucked neatly behind his back as he observed them from afar.

If he  _was_  observing them. Batter assumed him to be, since the mask did seem tilted in their direction, but again, it was rather hard to be sure. 

"Yeah, fair ‘nuff," Matt said dismisivally, even as he cupped his hands to mouth and gave a mocking crow, "Hey, freak, Kermit called! He wants his face back!"

Exasperation instantly twinged at Batter’s mind, giving life to itself in the form of a dramatic eye roll. “Really?” He deadpanned, unamused by the immaturity of his supposed teammate, and maybe a little bit by the completely unoriginal line. 

Apparently the person was equally unimpressed because he proceeded to make absolutely no response what so ever. Didn’t even move his head; just continued to gaze in the same direction he had been, which may or may not be pointed towards them. 

Matt’s shout  _had_  attracted the attention of the rest of the team, however, and they were all muttering curiously among themselves, wondering what the fuss was about. Realizing with a sinking feeling that they probably weren’t going to be headed home anytime soon, Batter mentally searched for a way to defuse this situation before he ended up wasting the rest of his night here.

While he was reviewing his options, Matt apparently decided the lack of response to his taunt was completely unacceptable. “Hey, asshole! Yeah, you in the mask! I’m talking to you!” 

Oh for the love of. Batter heaved an aggravated noise, unable to comprehend what it was about jocks and their need to pick a fight with everyone. In his opinion, if someone wanted to stand around wearing a stupid Halloween mask in the middle of March, then that was their own business and he didn’t want to waste his time challenging them on it. Absently he humored the idea of just heading home, team spirit be damned.

Still no response from the person. Could he even hear them? It was possible he had headphones in. Batter couldn’t see a chord from here, but it was dark, and the mask would probably hide one anyways. Maybe he was just standing there, music blaring, wondering to himself what in the hell the crazy dude in the baseball jersey was screaming about. 

If he was, clearly Matt took offense to it. Puffing up in visible arrogant annoyance, Matt rounded his shoulder and stalked across the road to where the figure was standing, the rest of their team raising their voices in jeering encouragement.

"Matt, leave him alone," Batter requested in exasperation. This could only end badly, he could tell. But alas, Matt’s imaginary pride had been wounded, and there was simply no stopping a man defending his fragile ego. Batter silently mourned the loss of his semi-pleasant night.

Once Matt was up close, it became apparent how short the masked man was. He barely came up to Matt’s chest and the baseball player practically towered over him, entire body radiating intimidation. Intimidation that clearly failed at its job, considering the person didn’t even tilt their head back to attempt maintaining eye contact. It was likely he couldn’t see through the mask at all; it’s eye-holes  _did_ look painted on. _  
_

"Hey, asshole," Matt growled, seething with indignation at the lack of response his jeers were earning. Okay, yeah, he was definitely being ignored - there was no way the person could miss him from that close. Still, Batter had to give him credit where credit was due. He didn’t even flinch away from the much larger male.

After a few seconds of silence, Matt’s patience clearly hit it’s end. “Alright, fucker, you want to play that game?” He snarled, one hand lashing out to grab a hold of the thick sweater.

It happened in a split second; faster then one could blink. Even with his experienced eye from years of batting, Batter barely saw the blur of color that flew out to catch Matt around the ankle. Then with a startled yell he was flat out on his back, feet completely swept out from under him.

The person in the mask didn’t so much as look at him as his foot calmly settled back down beside it’s partner. Everyone else froze in surprise, hostility momentarily stuttered out of them. Slowly the person tilted their head to the side, and Batter felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle when the mask landed right on his face. There was no denying his gaze was focused entirely on him; he could feel the others eyes burning through their cover.

“You have very pretty eyes.”

Even then, the first thing Batter associated with Zacharie's voice was smoke. It was thick yet whispy, curling up into the air with a heaviness that made his chest contract as if he’d just swallowed a mouthful of ash. There was a strange sense of familiarity in it, though he couldn’t figure out why for the life of him. 

Self-consciousness hit him like a ton of bricks, hand darting up instinctively to tug the brim of his hat lower, shielding his face from the other’s watchful gaze. Tension rippled through his arm when the action earned a disappointed sigh, tightening his grip on the hard fabric.

A weak cough interrupted the silence and all eyes instantly snapping to their downed companion.

“Ah! My sincerest apologies, monsieur. How very rude of me not to offer you a hand up after your most unfortunate fall.” The masked man sounded far to sincere, even as he held out his hand in offering to the dazed player on the ground.

It took a moment, but eventually Matt managed to gather enough brain cells to realize what had just happened. “I didn’t fall, you son of a bitch  _tripped_  me!” he snarled, lashing out to smack the hand offered to him. It was pulled safely out of his reach before he made contact, nearly causing him to topple over with the speed of his own momentum. 

Instead it was pressed delicately to the front of the masked man’s sweater as he released a small huff of offense. “ _Tripped_  you? Me? That’s quite an accusation to make, mon bon monsieur. Do you honestly lead me to believe a fine upstanding sports player such as yourself could be so easily had by someone of my stature?”

There was a faint purr in his tone, which, despite the almost sincerity of the words, emphasized the undertones of mockery. As much as he wished to deny it, Batter found himself oddly impressed. The man had so carefully spun the entire situation on it’s head, landing it in such a way that pointed all fingers upon Matt. Obviously the baseball player realized it as well, because his mouth just kind of flapped in silent indignation for several moments before, with a humiliated snarl, he rose shakily to his feet.

Clearly attempting to save what little pride he had remaining, Matt turned and stalked away from the masked man, returning to his stunned team. “Come on, guys, let’s get out of here,” he grumbled, shoving his way to the front of the group. They all shared a weary glance before trudging after him, Batter lingering behind. 

"…Impressive," he finally offered in dry praise, earning a delighted sort of laugh as the man once again tucked his arms behind his back.

"Merci, dear Batter," came the amused response. Batter instantly tensed, alarm flashing through him with the lingering trace of suspicion.

"How do you know my name?" He asked tersely, frowning at the strange ripple that seemed to pass through the man. For a moment there was an uneasy silence, as if he was carefully chewing on his reply.

Finally he released a strange chuckle, head shaking slowly from side to side. “Ah, well. I did not know it was your name, per say.  But you do carry a bat upon your person, and the jersey lends to the idea you are a professional player. Was I wrong in my assumption of you being a batter?” He sounded sincere enough, and the tension slowly eased from Batter’s shoulder.

"No, you’re right," he responded, feeling a tad irritated at himself for the overreaction now. Seeking a change of subject he risked a glance from behind his hat, eyeing up the stranger and letting his gaze linger on his concealed face. "Why the mask?"

There was another short silence.

"Why the hat?" Was the counter inquiry, and despite himself Batter felt his lips twitch up into a half amused smile. Fair enough. The subject was willingly dropped in favor of him glancing after the fading backs of his team. 

"Right, I’ll let you have that. I should be going," was all Batter had to offer in response, and the man bobbed his head in willing agreement. "Maybe I’ll see you around," he trailed off, letting the unfinished sentence linger in an unspoken question. The other seemed to catch on quickly enough.

"Zacharie," the name was practically purred, rolling off his tongue thick and smooth. For some reason, it made Batter’s skin itch. He ignored it. "And yes,  _Batter_ , you shall most definitely see me around.” 

Batter blinked in mild confusion at that statement, opening his mouth to respond when Matt’s voice interrupted his train of thought.

"Hey, Batter, leave the weirdo alone! We’re going for ice cream!" Grimacing in annoyance Batter briefly turned away from the newly named Zacharie to call out a confirmatory.

When he looked back, Zacharie was gone.


	3. Lunch Period

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Whatever your heart desires, dearest Batter,” the words drifted into the air like perfume, sweet and alluring, then hung there just long enough to almost become suffocating.

As always, it only took Ms. Teacher roughly 15 minutes to gather herself back together. Having obviously conceded the fight for the hundredth time, she made no further comment towards Zacharie, allowing him to remain in his newly won seat yet again. This being the outcome pretty much the entire room had no doubt long since foreseen, no one argued at all. Class was thus allowed to continue without further interruption. 

Also as always, Batter dutifully ignored him entirely for the remainder. Clearly unconcerned over his neglect, Zacharie politely refrained from pursuing conversation with him; Batter couldn’t help but wonder why he bothered putting up such a fight over seating in the first place. It wasn’t like they actually talked at all during lessons. Ever.

The bell came as a blessing. Chairs scraped the ground immediately as students escaped the room as fast as possible, having no desires to linger longer then necessary. Only Batter remained, taking his time packing because he knew rushing on his part was completely useless. 

There was no escaping the shadow hovering at his elbow. 

"Pablo, we don’t have class together next period," Batter commented, looping his school bag over one shoulder as he rose to his feet. The cat mask just tilted to the side, smiling that irritating grin at him all the while.  It was like speaking to a brick wall. Batter didn’t know why he bothered trying. "You don’t even like physical education," he added with absolutely zero conviction.

"I like Physical Education just fine, amigo," Zacharie responded smoothly, hands folded behind his back as he trailed Batter from the classroom. "It is quite an enjoyable activity to observe. From afar. Admirable to watch."

Sighing through his teeth Batter shook his head, making a brief stop by his locker to exchange his books for his gym clothes. “Right. Nothing creepy about that,” he deadpanned, not even surprised that his sarcasm was rewarded with a breezy laugh. Maybe a little bit irritated that it made his skin prickle.

Having finally retrieved his change of clothes, Batter turned to properly address him as he closed his locker door. “Seriously though, don’t you actually have a class to-” He paused, momentarily thrown off at the face that greeted him. It only took a moment for him to regain his stride. “You changed your mask.” Pause. Sigh. “Why did you change your mask. Wait. Don’t answer that. I actually don’t care.” 

Slipping around him carefully Batter made his way down the hallway, not even having to check to know that Zacharie was following him. Because he always  _did_. Like a stray cat. Or possibly a stray frog. Instead he entered the gymnasium without looking back, passing by Mr. Athlete with a bland, “I  _know_.”

Mr. Athlete seemed to be momentarily confused, before his eyes lit upon the person tailing him. “Batter, Zacharie is. Oh. Right. Oi, boy.”

This time Batter  _did_  look back, taking in the image of the large coach looming over Zacharie, arms folded in a clear attempt at intimidation. Which was stupid, because the whole school had to know by now that he was completely immune to any and all forms of intimidating tactics. 

"Ah, monsieur, I beg your pardon, but I believe you are blocking my path."

"Now you’re French." Batter felt it necessary to bring attention to this fact, because damn it all he had definitely been speaking Spanish that morning. "Wait. Zacharie _.”_ He’d switched masks. Right. Stupid him. Not that it mattered, since the two men didn’t even seem to hear him. 

"Zacharie for the last time, you’re not in my class," Mr. Athlete growled in obvious annoyance, glaring down into the unreadable sharpie drawn eyes.

Zacharie just tipped his head to one side, rocking back on his heels. “Oh really? How odd! I was most certain you were the one in charge of Physical Education. Clearly I am mistaken,” he sounded genuinely apologetic, even as he attempted to shuffle his way around the bulky form currently impeding his progress. 

It took a moment for Mr. Athlete to process that response. When he did his mouth almost twitched into a smile before taking a sharp turn back into a scowl, shifting to block Zacharie from passing him. “That’s not what I meant and you damn well know it! You’re supposed to be in Biology this period, and don’t you even try to tell me otherwise, I’ve spoken with Mr. Anatomy. I don’t know why you insist on coming here when you refuse to participate anyways-“

The changing room door swung shut, blocking out the remainder of the conversation. Relieved for a moment of freedom he made his way to an available stall to get changed, halfheartedly calling back greetings the rest of his class threw his way. Though he firmly did  _not_  return any teasing inquiries as to where his ‘shadow’ was, especially since they all knew the answer was ‘not very far behind’. 

Which was the truth, and the reason as to why Batter wasn’t the slightest bit surprised upon exiting the stall to discover Zacharie standing patiently directly outside it. “You could have waited outside the changing room,” he pointed out as he circled around him to drop his clothes off in a spare gym locker, ignoring the quiet, amused chuckles coming from the people still getting changed. 

"And miss out on those precious seconds of your company? Come now, friend, that is preposterous," Zacharie tutted. Batter just shook his head with a roll of his eyes.

"Right, how silly of me." He exited the changing room, purposefully not holding the door open and risking a satisfied grin at the thud and confused noise of pain it earned. Moving to join the rest of the class gathering around Mr. Athlete - who was looking decidedly red in the face - he glanced back just once to check Zacharie’s position. He’d retreated to the bleachers, one hand rubbing the front of his mask with an obviously sulking slouch in his shoulders.

Perfect. Batter felt safe in focusing all his attention on whatever that days activity was without any unwanted distractions. Dodge-ball. One of the most aggravating of games in Batter’s opinion, if only because for reasons he may never understand, the opposing side refused to ever directly throw a softball at him. A nagging part of his brain insisted it had something to do with that arrogant bastard perched on the bleachers behind them, but that was probably just the paranoia talking.

Regardless, the game ended as predicted; with Batter the only survivor yet again. Despite that, none of his class seemed the slightest spiteful, congratulating him even as the bell announced the end of class.

Absently fiddling with the brim of his hat Batter risked a glance over to where Zacharie had been previously, not at all taken aback to find the once occupied seat now empty. Of course. Lunch time meant one of two things, and since he  _had_  been wearing the frog mask prior to the bell, Batter was pretty confident he knew exactly where he was.

The most important factor was he wasn’t  _t_ _here_ , which allowed Batter to take as much time as he wanted getting changed back into his normal clothes. It also meant he had to come up with a reasonable excuse as to why he couldn’t join his classmates for lunch. Shit. “Sorry guys, I have to,” don’t say buy something. For the love of god do not say  _buy something that is actually the worst possible thing you could say in this very moment_. “Buy a new bat.”  _No_. _  
_

Heat flushed to his cheeks at the knowing laughter his words inspired, tugging his hat down to disguise the annoyed scowl on his face. Silently promising to give a certain grinning merchant a kick in the shin for this, Batter just shoved his gym clothes into his bag and exited the change room as quickly as possible, tuning out the amused catcalls of “Give Zachie a kiss from me~!” thrown his way. _  
_

“ _I hate you.”_

Clearly not expecting the sound of his voice Zacharie fumbled the credits he had been counting, glancing up to fix his mask on Batter’s scowling face. “Beg pardon? Is something the matter, dear Batter?” He inquired in innocent confusion, even as he turned away to bid a cheerful wave to Elsen, who was hurrying away clutching a bag of  _something_  in his hands. “Pleasure doing business as always, mon ami!”

"You’re a plague," Batter informed him flatly, arms folded across his chest and mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Oh come now, Batter. This is not about my business practices again, is it?" Zacharie would almost sound exasperated if not for the obvious amusement dripping at the edges of his voice, carefully tucking away his newest profits with the rest. "I have informed you many times I am permitted to sell my wares on school grounds so long as said wares do not involve any illegal substances."

"That’s not the problem and you know it." Batter accused, grinding the toe of one shoe into the ground. Zacharie seemed to ponder that for a moment before chuckling airily, reaching up to tap the front of his mask with one finger.

"I am afraid you are inquiring after the wrong person if you want to discuss your problems, my grumbling companion," he purred, stooping down to rummage through his bag. "I am not much of a mind reader, I admit. That sounds more like Pablo’s sort of thing. Now, you were interested in acquiring a new bat, oui?"

"Oh god damn you," Batter growled through his teeth, even as his hands automatically moved to rifle through his pockets. "What do you have to offer?"

There was a seconds pause, Zacharie’s fingers momentarily stilling in their search. Then his head slowly tilted to the side, fixing his painted eyes on Batter. 

"Whatever your heart desires, _dearest_  Batter,” the words drifted into the air like perfume, sweet and alluring, then hung there just long enough to almost become suffocating. “Now, do you want wooden or metal?” And the moment was over, leaving Batter feeling like something important had just slipped through his fingers, though he couldn’t figure out for the life of him what.

All he knew was it was going to nag at him for the rest of the day.

 _A plague indeed_.


End file.
